Scream Test: An unforgettable and gripping psychological thriller

by Mark Gillespie

  Scream Test

  Mark Gillespie

  This is a work of fiction. All of the events and dialogue depicted within are a product of the author’s overactive imagination. None of this stuff happened. Except maybe in a parallel universe.

  Copyright © 2021 by Mark Gillespie

  www.markgillespieauthor.com

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  First Printing: August 2021

  Cover by Vincent Sammy

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  Contents

  Quotes

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  May 10th 2008

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  November 11th 2009

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  November 28th 2009

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  April 22nd 2017

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  September 17th 2017

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  The End

  Other Thriller/Horror/Suspense Books by Mark Gillespie

  Devil in the Dark Woods

  The Hatching

  Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Titles by Mark Gillespie

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  Website/Social Media

  ‘In Hollywood, no one knows anything.’ – William Goldwyn

  ‘The Child is the father of the man.’ – William Wordsworth

  ‘And the mother of the woman.’

  – Someone else

  1

  June 14th, 2018

  It was Thursday morning in West Hollywood. About a quarter to ten with clear skies and bright sunshine hanging over the land of dreams.

  Ellie Ferguson had been up for hours. Not that she’d really slept. She was sitting on the motel stairs, leaning her shoulder against a wall that looked like a sheet of cracked ice. The top half of her body was cooling off in the shade while her long legs, hidden under a pair of faded blue jeans, basked in the early sun.

  Not even eleven o’clock and already it was hotter than any morning had the right to be.

  The cellphone was in Ellie’s hand but she still hadn’t plucked up the courage to make the call to Klein’s office. She kept tapping the button at the side, looking at the wallpaper image of the Rouge River back home, then lowering the phone again in search of distraction.

  “C’mon,” she said, staring at the iPhone. The screen was every bit as cracked as the wall beside her.

  Nope. Maybe in a couple of minutes she’d summon up the nerve to type in the number.

  “Chicken shit,” she muttered under her breath.

  Ellie glanced at her surroundings, not for the first time. Not for the second or third either. She saw the flimsy-looking ‘MOTEL BLISS’ sign flapping off the side of the rundown, yellowy-brown building, trying to catch the attention of passing drivers like a hitchhiker’s thumb. The motel itself was a crumbling blemish tucked in between a brand-new hair salon and a Land Rover dealership on the mighty Sunset Boulevard and its steady flow of four-lane traffic. It felt kind of hidden away, like an embarrassing secret. The people who stayed at the Motel Bliss did so because they were broke and had no other choice.

  Away from the street, on the other side of the car park, Ellie saw an open doorway leading into the small reception area. Ellie could smell French Fries coming from that direction. Thick-cut, greasy French Fries, drowning in vinegar, for breakfast.

  Her stomach rumbled at the thought of food.

  Ellie couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten. At least, anything that would pass for a solid meal. She’d been too nervous to eat after getting off the bus in North Hollywood Station at just after eight o’clock last night. Christ, even then it had still been hot. Didn’t it ever cool down in this goddamn place? On her way to the motel, recognizing that she needed some kind of sustenance, Ellie had grabbed a six pack of Coors from a nearby liquor store. The guy behind the counter had even asked for ID, which Ellie had found both amusing and annoying.

  She hoped that the beer might help her sleep and yet she hadn’t managed to finish one bottle. That same, unfinished bottle was still sitting on the bedside table in her room in a state of neglect. Ellie wasn’t sure if she’d slept at all in the end. Everything was a blur except the memory of lying on the hard bed fully clothed, sweating and yet unwilling to undress because the place felt gross and the traffic outside was constant and unfamiliar.

  She’d stayed that way until first light. Eyes wide open. Not really believing that at long last, she was here in Hollywood.

  It had been disappointing for Ellie to discover that Hollywood mornings were pretty much the same as mornings everywhere else. There had been no fanfare to signal the break of dawn. Chris Hemsworth wasn’t knocking on the door to deliver breakfast in bed whilst dressed as Thor.

  And the monotonous hum of traffic went on and on.

  Ellie’s backside fidgeted on the steps, trying to get comfortable. She glanced over towards reception again where she saw fat boy manager leaning over the desk throwing French fries down his throat like it was an Olympic sport. Yeah, she remembered meeting him last night, a two-hundred-pound greaseball on legs and a heavy breather. What was his name? Pat? Pete? Ellie had felt his eyes all over her as she’d leaned over the desk to sign the slip of paper he’d thrust in front of her. Fat boy had noticed the six pack of Coors that Ellie was carrying. Poor guy was probably getting a headache trying to figure it out, wondering why someone like Ellie was shopping in a bargain bin liquor store and staying in a shithole like the Motel Bliss.

  He hadn’t asked. Ellie hadn’t volunteered any information either. That was probably how it worked around these parts.

  Those fries did smell good though. If she could just get the phone call out the way, maybe she’d reward herself to some breakfast. And yes, that would involve French fries.

  She stared at her cellphone. At the business card sitting on the step beside her.

  There were two numbers on the card. One printed on front and the other was handwritten on the back in a messy, almost childish scrawl of black ink. The printed number was the regular contact for Klein Productions and the handwritten one was the contact info that Grady Klein himself had scribbled for Ellie at the Toronto International Film Festival last year. His personal cell.

  Holy shit, this was really happening.

  Ellie felt the beginnings of a headache coming on. To tackle this, she closed her eyes and conjured up the soothing sights and sounds of the Rouge River back home. The flowing water, the unique birdsong. The river had been her special place growing up and the memories of spending time there always relaxed her and took away all kinds of discomforting sensations. If not, she could always go to reception and ask fat boy if he had any Advil.

  “I can do this,” she said, staring at the iPhone.

  She felt like Superman staring at a piece of Kryptonite.

  She’d come outside because it was hot and claustrophobic in the motel room. The bedsheets were like cardboard, the drapes dirty and the stale cigarette smoke of previous guests haunted the air despite the fact that Ellie was in a non-smoking room.<
br />
  Outside was better. Sitting under the big blue sky and taking in some of that California heat.

  “Fuck it,” she said.

  Ellie tapped the agency’s number into her cell. She wasn’t ready to call Klein directly, despite the fact that most struggling actors in Hollywood would have sacrificed their mothers and fathers to get a hold of that number.

  She took a deep breath of warm, smoggy air, tucking her blonde hair behind her ears and listening to the ringing tone.

  “Pick up,” she said, glancing over at the fat man still devouring those French fries while thumbing through his cellphone.

  A sharp click killed the ringing tone stone dead. A woman’s voice answered.

  “Klein Agency, how may I help you?”

  Ellie blurted out the casual line she’d rehearsed for weeks in front of the mirror, both at her small apartment in Toronto, and in the Motel Bliss while she’d been brushing her teeth that morning. “Hi, this is Ellie Ferguson and I’m calling for Grady Klein. May I speak to him please?” The words were easy. Seventeen easy words. The tone however, wasn’t. Ellie wanted to come off like someone who belonged in this world, but instead she sounded exactly like what she was – another nobody straight off the bus.

  A pause.

  “Uh-huh. What’s this in regards to please?”

  Ellie felt like she was being clubbed over the head with the woman’s thinly-veiled contempt.

  “I met Grady in Toronto last September,” Ellie said. “At TIFF, the film festival. He told me I should give him a call when I came to LA.”

  Ellie made a deep-cringe face. Yep, she sounded like every other desperado running around Tinseltown with stars in their eyes. He told me I should give him a call when I came to LA. People said anything to get a foot in the door. Some of them would do anything. How was this pencil-pushing bitch supposed to know that Ellie was telling the truth? She had met Grady Klein in Toronto and he had written his private number down for her. His private number, goddamn it.

  You should have called that one then. Now you’ve got robot woman looking down at you.

  Idiot. Coward.

  “You’re an actor?” the woman asked.

  “Yeah, that’s right.”

  “Well,” the woman said, continuing to sound unimpressed, “you do know that we’re not an acting agency. Actors usually send their resume to an acting agency.”

  “It’s not like that,” Ellie said, pressing the iPhone tight to her ear. “Grady will remember me. We met on the red carpet at the premiere of The Exorcism of Cassandra Saint. He gave me his card and it had this number on the front and his private cell on the back. He wrote his cell down for me and I have the number right here if you want to check?”

  “I don’t understand Miss…sorry, what did you say your name was?”

  “Ferguson.”

  “Well, Miss Ferguson. If Mr. Klein gave you his private number, why didn’t you call it?”

  Checkmate.

  Ellie leaned back on the stairs and felt the sun getting hotter on her legs. She moved them a little into the shade. “I thought that might be a little too invasive. So I tried this number instead.”

  “I see. Do you have a resume, Miss Ferguson? Headshots? Professional acting experience?”

  Ellie bristled at the woman’s icy tone. Sounded like she was doing something else while talking to Ellie who was clearly an inconvenient distraction.

  “Sort of. But listen, I’m not cold-calling you guys here. I’m telling you the truth when I say I met Grady Klein last year in Canada and I have his cell. He told me to give him a call and it wasn’t just a line, you know? I know when someone’s giving me a line.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, Mr. Klein’s not here right now. Would you like to leave a…?”

  “No.”

  Ellie’s thumb whacked the red button and she glared at the iPhone for a full minute before lowering it onto her lap. She had to hang up on the robot before she said something she regretted and burned her bridges with Klein Productions. She could imagine the woman’s face behind the desk. Tight eyelids. Neck lift. Plump, artificial lips.

  “Bitch.”

  Ellie flipped the business card onto its back.

  “Fine,” she said, looking at the blank ink scribble. “Guess we’re doing it this way.”

  She tapped in Klein’s private number. Didn’t matter that the individual digits were barely legible. She’d memorized it the day after Klein wrote it down. But she still looked at the card, just to make sure.

  Ellie placed the phone against her ear. The ringing tone lasted only a couple of seconds before another woman’s voice answered.

  “Hi, this is Jami speaking. Can I help you?”

  Oh shit, Ellie thought. What if Klein’s wife had picked up his cell or it was his daughter or his sister or his mistress or whatever? What if this wasn’t even if his cell and Klein had scribbled down a fake number that night just to get rid of her? That meant Ellie could be talking to anyone. That would make sense, wouldn’t it? Considering the way she’d cornered him that night.

  “Hi,” Ellie said, her heart pounding. “Who am I speaking to please?”

  “Jami Maddox. Who’s this?”

  “My name’s Ellie Ferguson. I’m trying to reach Grady Klein. Long story short – he gave me this number at the TIFF festival last year. We had a brief chat on the red carpet before the premiere of The Exorcism of Cassandra Saint. He wrote this number down on the back of the card and told me to give him a call when I came to LA this year.”

  “He gave you this number?”

  “Yeah. That’s right.”

  “Well you must have done something right,” Jami said, laughing.

  Ellie relaxed her grip on the cellphone. She liked this Jami whoever she was, especially compared to the frosty vinegar tits receptionist she’d just spoken to at the agency. Jami wasn’t from Los Angeles that was for sure. She had one of those stereotypical Brooklyn accents that people put on when they’re trying to imitate a Brooklyn accent times a hundred. She spoke with the laid-back assertiveness of a pro. Relaxed, totally in control.

  “Glad to hear it,” Ellie said. “This would have been pretty embarrassing otherwise.”

  “It’s all good,” Jami said in a cheerful tone. “I’m Grady’s PA and you’ve definitely called the right number. No one gets this number if the big boss man doesn’t want to speak to them. Can you hold the line for a second please?”

  “Sure,” Ellie said.

  “Thanks. Just a second.”

  Ellie felt a lone bead of sweat trickling down her forehead. But she was happy. The French fries at reception were still killing her though. Holy shit. Felt like she hadn’t eaten in weeks. She glanced upstairs, towards Room 9. That was her base in LA and it was a shambles. There was paint peeling everywhere and the shower door in Ellie’s room was broken. But what the hell? It wasn’t for long, depending on how things played out with Klein.

  There was no sign of a headache anymore. Thank God.

  “Still there Ellie?”

  “Still here.”

  “Sorry about the delay. I was just talking to Grady and yeah, he does remember you from TIFF. Tall and blonde, right? He said you had a piercing gaze. Fearless and crafty. His words, not mine.”

  Jami laughed and it was one of those big laughs that shook the floor.

  “I suppose that’s me,” Ellie said. “Fearless and crafty? Not sure about that.”

  She thought about her mom and dad in Canada. How would they have described their only child? On the rare occasion they stopped arguing to remember that they had a daughter, they’d have used the word ‘difficult’ instead of ‘fearless’.

  What’s with the intense look in your eyes Ellie? Whenever you talk about acting, about Hollywood, you always get that crazy look. You understand that most people who go there fail, don’t you? They get used, abused and spat out like they’re nothing. Think about the woman who jumped off the Hollywood sign. Remember that? Think she was happy? What
the hell do you want to go to a place like that for?

  “Ellie? You still there?”

  “Sorry Jami. Yeah, I’m here. Did you say something?”

  “Yeah,” Jami said. “I said there’s good news. Grady’s got some spare time this morning and would like to catch up with you. How are you fixed today?”

  Ellie had to stand up. One hand on the wall to make sure she didn’t topple over.

  “This morning? Like, today?”

  “Yeah. Is that any good?”

  Ellie’s mind raced back and forth. She hadn’t expected things to move so fast, not even in Tinseltown. What time was it? Last time she’d checked it was around half past nine and that meant morning was nearly over. Right? Meet Grady Klein? This morning? Maybe it was for the best. Less time to lie around the Motel Bliss worrying about everything.

  “Yeah I’ve got time. Sure, that sounds great.”

  “Cool,” Jami said. “Let’s do it. You know the Chateau Lux?”

  “Doesn’t everyone know the Chateau Lux?”

  Another floor-trembling laugh from Jami. “Yeah, I guess that was kind of a stupid question. Where are you now? Are you close by?”

  “Very close.”

  “Great,” Jami said. “We’re stopping by that way shortly. Grady sometimes uses the Lux as an informal office if the agency is too busy. It’s a good place to get things done – we do a little admin, grab lunch, use it to meet people and feel them out for upcoming projects. Especially actors. You know?”